A Thing of the Past
by Lady of Tears
Summary: One bright autumn day, a young man appears in the Ministry of Magic with a secret about who he really is. When the crystal hourglasses fall, Harry Potter is sent to the one place he’s vulnerable…the past.
1. Prologue

**A Thing of the Past**

**Summary: One bright autumn day, a young man appears in the Ministry of Magic with a secret about who he really is. When the crystal hourglasses fall, Harry Potter is sent to the one place he's vulnerable…the past.**

**Author's Note: Well, here it is! The brand new, better than ever, version of A Thing of the Past! This prologue comes from a few pages out of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, with my own revisions. How many of you are going to go and look to see what pages they are? Anyway, I love it! **

**Prologue**

_They were at the end of row ninety-seven; Harry turned right and began to sprint in earnest. He could hear footsteps right behind him and Hermione's voice urging Neville on. The door through which they had come as ajar straight ahead, Harry could see the glittering light of the bell jar, he pelted thro ugh it, the prophecy still clutched tight and safe in his hand, waited for the others to hurtle over the threshold before slamming the door behind hi m---_

"_Colloportus!" gasped Hermione and the door sealed itself with an odd squelching noise. _

"_Where---where are the others?" gasped Harry. _

_He had thought that Ron, Luna, and Ginny had been ahead of them, that they would be waiting in this room, but there was nobody there. _

"_They must have gone the wrong way!" whispered Hermione, terror in her face. _

"_Listen!" whispered Neville. _

_Footsteps and shouts echoed from behind the door they had just sealed. Harry put his ear close to the door to listen and heard Lucius Malfoy roar: "Leave Nott, **leave him, I say**, the Dark Lord will not care for Nott's injuries as much as losing the prophecy --- Jugson, come back here, we need to organize! We'll split into pairs and search, and don't forget, be gentle with Potter until we've got the prophecy, you can kill the others if necessary --- Bellatrix, Rodolphus, you take the left, Crabbe, Rabastan, go right --- Jugson, Dolohov, the door straight ahead --- Macnair and Avery, through here --- Rookwood, over there --- Mulciber, come with me!"_

"_What do we do?" Hermione asked Harry, trembling from head to foot. _

"_Well, we don't stand here waiting for them to find us, for a start," said Harry. "Let's get away from this door…"_

_They ran, quietly as they could, past the shimmering bell jar where the tiny egg was hatching and unhatching, toward the exit into the circular hallway at the far end of the room. They were almost there when Harry heard something large and heavy collide with the door Hermione had charmed shut. _

"_Stand aside!" said a rough voice. "Alohomora!" _

_As the door flew op en, Harry, Hermione, and Neville, dived under desks. They could see the bottom of the two Death Eaters' robes drawing nearer, their feet moving rapidly._

"_They might've run straight through to the hall," said the rough voice. _

"_Check under the desks," said another. _

_Harry saw the knees of the Death Eaters bend. Poking his wand out from under the desk he shouted, "STUPEFY!"_

_A jet of red light hit the nearest Death Eater; he fell backward into a grandfather clock and knocked it over. The second Death Eater, however, had leapt aside to avoid Harry's spell and now pointed his own wand at Hermione, who had crawled out from under the desk to get a better aim. _

"_Avada ---"_

_Harry launched himself across the floor and grabbed the Death Eater around the knees, causing him to topple and his aim to go awry. Neville overturned his desk in his anxiety to help; pointing his wand wildly at the struggling pair he cried, "EXPELLIARMUS!"_

_Both Harry's and the Death Eater's wands flew out of their hands and soared back toward the entrance to the Hall of Prophecy; both scrambled to their feet and charged after them, the Death Eater in front and Harry hot on his heels, Neville bringing up the rear, plainly horrorstruck at what he had done. _

"_Get out of the way, Harry!" yelled Neville, clearly determined to repair the damage. _

_Harry flung himself sideways as Neville took aim again and shouted, "STUPEFY!"_

_At the same time, Hermione flung out her arm and cried "Accio Wand!" Harry's wand flew from a dark corner into her hand and she threw it to him. _

"_Thanks," he said, "right, let's get out of ---"_

_He stopped as the jet of red light from Neville's wand flew over the Death Eater's shoulder and hit a glass-fronted cabinet on the wall full of variously shaped hourglasses. The cabinet fell to the floor and burst apart, glass shards flying everywhere. _

_Harry held his hands up to his face as the bits of glass seemed to attack him. He could feel the sharp edges gently grazing his skin. An odd sort of dread took over him. Something wasn't right. His eyes were oddly glazed, and when he heard Hermione's shout, "STUPEFY!" her voice seemed distant. He saw the jet of red light hit the Death Eater in the middle of his chest; he froze arm still raised, his wand fell to the floor with a clatter and he collapsed backward toward the bell jar. _

_It was quiet now. Harry thought he was hearing Hermione's voice, worried, talking to him. He tried to speak, but as he did he could taste nothing but sand. He could feel his eyes gritting over. Everything was going dark now. He could hear the clocks, slowly ticking, boring into him with a cruel passion. _

_He was falling now. It was the most spectacular feeling. Everything was melting away; the floor had gone out from under him. Desperation gripped him, his fingers reaching out for anything, but the sand just fell through. It was all he could feel now. The glass was gone; he could no longer feel the sharp edges biting at this skin. All but the sand had evaporated. _

_Suddenly, a light seemed to blaze from all around him. Blinking furiously, trying to see through the grains, Harry was sure he saw two distorted figures. He tried to scream a warning. The others had come, it was just Neville and Hermione now, he couldn't help them. _

"_Neville…" Harry gasped through his lips, trying to breath with the sand that was gagging him. "Hermione." He was drowning now in the sand, sinking through the layers of the world. _

_There was a voice. It was calling his name. That much he could make out. He knew the voice; he wanted to go to it. But he couldn't. Harry was dying now, the sand was destroying him. _

_He tried to scream out. To answer. It was odd, Harry saw them all flashing before his eyes. His parents. Ron, Hermione, the Weasleys. Sirius. Then, it was black. _


	2. Chapter 1

**A Thing of the Past **

**Chapter One: **

He was dead.

Once you stopped breathing, you died.

Or so Harry heard.

The sand had suffocated him. It was dark now. Was this what death was like? If it was, Harry was disappointed. You weren't supposed to feel pain when you died. And the throbbing in his head could definitely be classified as pain.

To Harry's surprise his body shook as he greedily took in a gulp of air. So he wasn't dead after all, common sense told him that. Blinking furiously, Harry pushed himself up off the ground. He lifted his hand to his forehead, as something sticky gently trickled down his cheek. With a dull sort of recognition Harry realized it was blood.

A glittering blue light seemed to be filling the room. Harry knew he had seen it before; it filled him with a sort of peace that made him feel uneasy. The room was coming into focus now, and Harry suddenly realized that he was still in Department of Mysteries, in the room with the large bell jar.

The only problem was he was the only one in it.

He stood up quickly, and automatically wished he hadn't. His legs felt like they were made out of Mrs. Weasley's chocolate pudding. Harry's blood stained hand went for the wall to steady himself. It was quiet now. Hermione's worried whispers seemed to have vanished, the signs of their battle gone.

It was like none of it had ever happened.

Harry leaned back and studied the wall he was leaning against. The glass cabinet was there, the various hourglasses reflecting the swirling light. With a dazed look on his face, his fingers shakily pressed against the glass.

What happened?

A horrible sense of dread was filling him now. Where was Hermione? A flash of freckles ran through his mind. Ron. Bottlecaps. Luna. A swirl of red hair. Ginny. Neville. His stomach dropped and he suddenly felt like he couldn't stand anymore.

Where was Sirius?

Harry took in a few deep gulps of air, trying hard not to vomit. He sank back down to the floor, his back sliding against the wall. Strands of his dark hair fell into his face as he hung his head down, eyes squeezed shut. He felt like he was going to be sick. Vomit was rising in his throat and Harry pressed his shaking fingers to his temples, trying to stop the ringing in his head, ignoring the fact that another trickle of blood ran down his palm.

"_How could I have been so stupid?" _Harry thought weakly, wishing he had listened to the advice of people who were much smarter than he was. Hermione had told him no. Told him to wait. But he couldn't listen.

_Hermione._

The Death Eater was going to kill her. Harry had barely stopped him in time, blindly jumping at the man's knees. Was she dead now? The thought only made the feeling in his stomach worsen. He could see her, body spread on the cold floor, her large brown eyes wide with worry, frozen in time by that flashing green light. His name was on her lips.

Harry leaned over and vomited.

The voices were coming back now. Harry groaned, completely exasperated with the fact that he seemed to be going crazy. A set look of determination appeared on his face, a feverish heat etched into his eyes, Harry forced himself off of the ground. Crazy or not, the people he cared about were still in trouble. He had to help them.

_Good that'll do. You're the one who led them into a trap in the first place_ whispered a voice in his head.

"Shut up," Harry mumbled, dragging his feet slightly.

_You're the reason they could be hurt. _

He was getting closer to the door. How did he get out again? Harry suddenly had a fond appreciation for sunlight. The memory of homemade strawberry ice cream at the Burrow made a tired smile appear on his face. But when that happy image was replaced with Ron's body on the dusty floor of Number 12, Harry felt as if he was going to collapse again.

_You're the reason they're dead._

Harry stopped moving. He swayed slightly on the spot. Anger was bubbling up in his blood. He didn't want to feel anymore. The guilt was gnawing at him. He had just done what he thought was best!

_It was best breaking into the Ministry of Magic where you knew you'd have to fight Death Eaters, the people you've survived out of sheer dumb luck? They're all dead now because of you!_

Harry slammed his fist hard against the wall, before finally letting his forehead follow after with a dull thud.

"They're not dead," he growled, though, even to him, his voice was completely unconvincing. Suddenly, a voice burst through the memories, the darkness, the ringing that filled his head. It was more than a voice that haunted him. It was real.

"He's in here!"

Harry's hand drew out his wand, though he found his arm wavered as he aimed it. There was an ominous moment of silence, when even the clocks seemed to stop their ticking, and then an eruption as Harry was thrown to the floor, red light exploding from behind him. His blood stained wand clattered to the ground, the heat scalding his back from the spell.

Harry closed his eyes as the pounding footsteps echoed in his head. The pain was almost unbearable now, he couldn't even let any sigh or groans, let alone a scream, escape from his lips. Stars erupted behind his eyes as his stiff body was turned over. He could hear the unfamiliar voices, angry and cold boring into him with an unusual amount of cruelty. Blinking furiously, Harry tried to see through the haze that was over his eyes. The pain seemed to have blinded him. The figures were towering over him, and one of them gripped his arm, as if the charm that had immobilized him wasn't enough to keep him from escaping. Harry subconsciously winced at the harsh touch.

A figure slid into focus through the haze of pain that covered his eyes. The man's hot, putrid breathe washed over him in a very unpleasant manner. Harry could only close his eyes, but he felt a smart against his cheek

"Don't close your eyes on me boy!" hissed a callous voice. Harry, while wanting to be defiant, reluctantly opened his eyes. The man's hand was pushing into his shoulder with unnecessary force.

"You'll be in Azkaban before the day is over, so you'll do best to cooperate with us," the man whispered through his teeth, his frigid eyes never leaving Harry's. The man studied him for a minute, with disgust on his face that was unsettling. Finally he stood, and, to Harry's dismay, pointed his wand at his chest.

"Ennervate."

Harry felt his body relax, his back curving slightly as the curse was lifted off of him. Not caring that the entire group that was staring at him aimed their wands as he sat up, Harry went to his knees and placed his palms on the ground, trying to regain his breath. Ragged coughs passed through his lips, the rusty taste in his mouth gagging him once again. But his captors, all of whom Harry had never seen, didn't seem to be feeling merciful. The rough hands pulled him to his feet, and started pulling him out of the Department of Mysteries. Harry didn't resist; in fact he was glad. The clocks, if it was even possible at that point, were driving him insane.

"My wand…" he muttered, but the two bulky figures who were leading him out of the room just looked at him. One of them, the man who had talked to him earlier, gave out an odd laugh.

"You won't be needing it anymore."

One of the men came up to Harry and poked him in the cheek with the blood-stained wand. Harry snapped his head and stared at the man, fury in his eyes. His better judgment told him it was better not to say anything. For some reason his better judgment seemed to sound a lot like Hermione.

"But don't worry. I'll take good care of it," the voice whispered in his ear. Harry's forehead furrowed as the frown deepened on his face. Suddenly the man who was holding his wand gave a grunt as a hand slammed aside his head. Harry stared.

"Follow procedure," came a coarse, raspy voice. Harry turned to see a gruff looking man with a slight limp, following closely behind the group. Harry couldn't advert his eyes, perhaps more out of the weakness that was slowly clouding his mind. The man, sensing Harry's stares, shot him a cold look that made it clear he was not a friend.

He struggled to keep on his feet, the soles of his sneakers rubbing loudly on the floor, creating quite a harsh sound against his ears. Harry's knees buckled as the rounded a sharp corner, and he winced in pain as one of the men jerked him upright. Perhaps it was the sudden bursts of sunlight that reached his face through the various rooms they passed, but Harry realized that the fog around his mind was lifting. For that reason alone, he opened his mouth and spoke once again.

"What happened to his others?"

It was a simple question, and it was the only thing that was really on Harry's mind at the moment. Unfortunately, it turned out to be the wrong thing to say. Completely forgetting that with one word Harry could be incapacitated, the man with the putrid breath had his meaty hand's wrapped around Harry's neck, pinning him against the wall. Harry thrashed against his weight as the man's eyes blazed.

"What others?" he snarled, pronouncing every syllable.

Harry tried to speak, but the lack of air was causing him to choke. The haze was coming back, his mind was growing dim. The harsh white colors of the walls were burning his eyes, the faces of the people around him swimming in front of him. The man seemed to be getting a sadistic sort of satisfaction from the fact that Harry was trying to fight against him, his breath coming out in short splutters of breath. He let the struggle go on for a moment before letting Harry drop down to the ground. There was a moment of silence as Harry gasped and took in his second life saving breath that day.

The man grabbed his shoulder and pulled him up, the look of madness fainting away into the etches of his tired face. Harry was honestly getting tired of the whole routine and resisted the strong urge to roll his eyes. The man leaned in closer and Harry leaned away, a flash of anger passing over his green eyes.

"They were attacking us," Harry hissed, his eyes narrowing. The man just looked at him. Completely frustrated, Harry finally had enough strength to ruffle his hair. It almost produced a cathartic reaction.

A moment of harsh silence passed over the group. The man didn't seem to comprehend what he was saying. Soon, all Harry could hear was the sound of his own breath, which was trying desperately to fill his lungs up. Finally, the man started to drag him silently down towards the elevator. With an ominous clear tone, the elevator door slowly opened. Harry blinked as a lavender envelope slammed into the man's head before spinning and zooming off down the hall. Though no sound escaped Harry's lips, an odd little of bubble of laughter seemed to erupt in the pit of his stomach. The man, however, seemed to sense that and stars erupted behind Harry's eyes as he was pushed hard into one of the desks. With a fumble he tried to maneuver his way around it with as little damage as possible. He didn't even pay attention to the second clear bell that rang out around him till a shocked voice came from the elevator door.

"Let go of my son!"

**Author's Note: Please review and tell me what you think. Is it better than the other version? Things are going to be different…**


	3. Chapter 2

**A Thing of the Past**

**Author's Note: Well, I've seemed to have created mass confusion with the first two chapters! It really wasn't my intention, but I guess I keep forgetting that my whole audience doesn't know the story line. So, yes, this is an AU fic that started with the battle in the DoM in OotP. Where Harry is now, well this chapter will probably answer that for you.

* * *

**

**Previous Chapter:**

With a fumble he tried to maneuver his way around it with as little damage as possible. He didn't even pay attention to the second clear bell that rang out around him till a shocked voice came from the elevator door.

"Let go of my son!"

* * *

**Chapter Two: **

God.

What was in that sand?

Crazy conspiracy theories about the Department of Mysteries went running through Harry's head. Obviously, there had to be some insane drug or narcotic in the sand in those time-turners. Obviously the aged, black haired wizard standing in front of him wasn't there. Harry was an orphan; his aunt and uncle made sure he never forgot that. So he couldn't be anyone's son. Anyone who was alive anyway.

Obviously.

It took Harry a few furious blinks of his eyes to realize that the man wasn't going to go away. The people around him seemed to have frozen, a few spurts of words emitting from their mouths. A twisted sort of frown had appeared on the man who was holding his arm tightly, and the wizard with the limp was looking around as if he was bored.

For a moment, something hot went running through Harry's blood. What if this all wasn't some sand-induced dream? What if the fates, finally having a good idea in their non-existent heads, had decided to let him get some rest in a euphoric world where all his dreams came true? That was good idea, Harry decided.

Of course Harry knew that wasn't the case.

But it was a nice thought.

Harry had those few precious seconds of peace to study the familiar image standing in front of him. He wasn't really surprised at how familiar the man looked. He was the oldest version of himself he had ever seen; the man had to be in his forties. He was tall and lean, a thick woolen robe draped over his shoulders. A few drops of water were still dripping down his horned-rimmed glasses. Harry guessed it had been raining. So much for the sunshine coming in through the windows. The only thing that seemed to show his age was the silver flecks creeping up onto familiar, and slightly wet, jet black hair.

But this man wasn't James Potter. Harry didn't know how he knew, but he just did. He guessed it had to do with some kind of father-son connection. It surprised him; Harry didn't ever pretend to have knowledge on the relationships between a father and a son. It didn't really stir any emotion in him other than curiosity. If it wasn't his father, than who was it?

Fortunately, and oddly, enough, the others didn't seem to have a problem recognizing the man. One shouted out a name in protest as the man grabbed Harry and pulled him towards the elevator. That was when it all made sense.

"Leroy! Be sensible! That's not James."

Another harsh silence passed over them. Harry had to inwardly sigh. Wherever he was, the people didn't really seem to think that some form of communication and talking was the best idea. But as the man he would have called Grandpa turned him around, talking didn't really seem necessary. Harry felt all the breath rush out of him as a pair of deep hazel eyes stared at him in disbelief. The man's hands were resting heavily on his shoulders and Harry was surprised that he felt a twinge of heat rush across his face as the man pulled his arms away if he had been burned.

Leroy Potter stumbled back, his mouth slightly ajar. He spoke in a weak sort of a voice, and it brought a painful sort of remembrance into the pit of Harry's stomach. The words stumbled from his grandfather's mouth, and Harry found himself soaking in the sound.

"Of-of course not," Leroy said, walking even farther back till it seemed like he was trying to go through the wall. When he touched his hair, Harry tried not to let any sort of smile well up out of him. "We're dropping him off tomorrow for the train to school."

Leroy gave an odd and hollow chuckle. "Just thought the boy might have decided to be himself and sneak in here."

Though no one really smiled, Harry's captors seemed grateful that Leroy Potter seemed to have come to his senses. Of course this wasn't his trouble-making son. Of course not.

Before Leroy had the chance to ask the next, very obvious question, Harry was once again held captive in the putrid man's arms.

"It's an easy mistake Leroy," he said, a mix between a growl and a smirk on his face. "The Death Eaters are doing anything they can to infiltrate the Ministry."

Something sparked in Harry's brain and he gave an angry sort of gasp.

"Death Eater! Are you insa-" Harry started before the man kicked him in his knees, and once again he was on the ground. He didn't even try to get up this time. The ground seemed like a preferable place to be at the moment. He was down there often enough as it was. He really should have been expecting it. Arguing really hadn't gotten him anywhere.

What he wasn't expecting was for a firm, but almost protective grip to pull him up again. A harsh grip, a painful grip, a heartless, cruel, agonizing grip. But not protective. Not, slightly reassuring. But it was.

Even though that unfamiliar feeling had its own painful ringing in his soul.

"Now Dorian," Leroy said in a shaky voice, holding Harry away from the cloud of men. "We have to go about this right. He's just a minor." The strong sound in his voice showed a return of stability and confidence.

At least now Harry had a name to put to the putrid man's face. For the first time, he really felt he had a chance to explain.

"We were being attacked," he pleaded to his grandfather. Something stirred behind Leroy's eyes. "I need to talk to Dumbledore."

There. That was what he needed to say. All those six words could save him. How long had it taken him to utter those words? He didn't even need six words; just three syllables. Dumbledore. Leroy Potter was making a face like that made sense, but the mention of the Headmaster only seemed to infuriate Dorian more.

"You see!" he said, pulling Harry away from Leroy's hold. "He wants to get close to Dumbledore! It's a trap; don't be fooled by your soft heart Leroy!"

And before Leroy could stop him, Dorian grabbed Harry and pulled him into the elevator, beckoning the others to follow. After only a slight hesitation, they did. In a desperate final attempt, feeling that things were going to get quite nastier, Harry reached out as the elevator door was quickly shutting. But the hands around him pulled him back and soon he closed his eyes as the pain washed over his body again.

Leroy Potter clutched at his chest and looked at the hallway. Papers were on the floor, and dark marks were on the once clean floors from what he guessed had been the soles of the boy's rubber shoes. His mind was racing as he tried to hit the elevator button. He knew it was a futile action, but it gave him some sort of odd satisfaction to do so. With a furious sort of motion he kicked the door and stalked furiously down the hall.

He had no idea who that boy was. It was against his better judgment, but he believed the boy who looked like his son. If he hadn't seen the boy's eyes he would have asserted it was his James. But that vivid shade of green had done something to him. Damn his intuition, but in all his years as a father he had learned something about truth. The bloody boy was telling the truth, no matter how absurd it was.

He wiped his wet brow from that morning's rain and furiously paced back and forth. An old man in a portrait was leaning against his own gilded gold frame, one eyebrow cocked. Leroy turned as he spoke.

"Now, that was something wasn't it," he said as more of a bored statement than a question. Leroy just looked at him, an incredulous look on his face. The wizard just gave a wheezing cough and shrugged his shoulders. As Leroy turned away, he saw a wisp of the wizard's cloak disappearing behind the frame. He shook his head and tried to figure out what to do next. Cursing slightly under his breath, Leroy pushed the button to the elevator. When nothing happened, it took all his self-restraint not to curse the door open.

* * *

Harry didn't like the look of the room of the place he was now. Yes, that little spot on the floor was looking quite fantastic. Anything was better than the rickety chair they were holding him down in, which was indeed pointless because he wasn't trying to resist. But every time he'd squirm or try to wiggle his fingers they'd grip his wrists and push his shoulders back. Everything from his head to his toes to his soul felt bruised and beaten. He took in a few breaths through his lips, which were starting to become uncomfortably dry.

The stillness was so strained, all Harry could do was close his eyes and imagine he was in the Burrow, the scent of fresh strawberry ice cream and flowers plaguing his mind. The darkness of his closed eyelids gave him an odd sense of security and strength. That was until a bright light took over his view. Squinting furiously, he looked up to see Dorian standing over him, a bright circular bulb of light emitting from his wand. For the first time, Harry could feel it. He could feel the terror pulsing through his blood, and he was sure it was showing. Asides from the nervous shuffling in the background, all Harry could heard was that cold voice.

"You're going to tell me the truth," he hissed. Harry caught a glimpse of glass glimmering in his hands.

"What do you think I've been doing this whole time?" Harry said through gritted teeth. Judging from the sharp inhale of breath he heard, his delightfully sarcastic manner was still having some affect on the man. It was then that Dorian started spewing off questions. And he didn't seem to like the answer, for with each one he'd push Harry harder back into the chair, his hand wrapping tightly around his throat.

"What are you doing here?"

"I don't know."

Squeeze.

"What's your affiliation with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?"

"What's your affiliation with the Easter Bunny?"

With that Harry had to splutter from lack of air. Well, if he was going to die he was going to go down laughing. If he could laugh at the moment. It was hard to do when you really couldn't breathe.

"What's your name?

"Harry."

"Is there a last name to go with that?"

Well that wasn't going to work. Harry didn't reply. He couldn't say the truth. If he did, he'd be killed. It would only prove he had some ulterior motive. A vein looked like it was going to pop on Dorian's forehead.

"Answer the question!"

"GooberMcPhelgm," Harry said without thinking, and automatically wished he hadn't. A cork popped and his head was pushed back. Did his neck break, because it sure felt like it? He was hearing their voice now. Ron's, Hermione's, Ginny's. Before he knew it there was a vial being rolled around in front of his eyes. The clear liquid that shone through made him feel like someone was stirring his insides around. Harry fought desperately now, but he couldn't stop as the glass hit his lips.

All he could do now was shut his eyes and wait for his eyes to glaze and his lips to tell all.

But as a single drop of rolled down his throat, a look of surprise washed over him. It was sweet. It was cold. It was familiar. It was pumpkin juice.

Harry realized the door was thrown wide open, two figures standing in the doorway. Dorian was frozen over him, his eyes closed, obvious anger displayed in the lines on his face. But a strong voice came to Harry's ears and he realized Dorian was nothing more than a blob of jelly now.

"Let the boy go," Albus Dumbledore said quietly, walking slowly into the room. A woman came flouncing in after him, a deeply set frown on her face. She looked positively livid.

"How could you!" the woman shouted, waving her wand in a fury. Harry expected some of the men to explode, but he just saw the vial of what was once veritaserum flying across the room and smashing against the wall. Dorian's hands quickly released him and Harry slumped down in the chair. He stared in awe as the woman cornered the men, waving her wand in a wild manner. He wasn't really paying attention to anything anymore, and that was why it was a complete surprise when he turned his head he saw Dumbledore standing next to him. Harry blinked dumbly a few times, watching those blue eyes behind the half-moon glasses study him. After several moments that seemed to last forever, Dumbledore turned to the woman who was still yelling quite loudly. Harry, through his muffled senses, could hear the words "proper procedure" and "underage."

She fell silent though when Dumbledore began to talk.

"I'll take Harry up to your office Millicent," he stated. Harry frowned slightly; why was name so familiar? He felt like he should know someone named Millicent. Millicent looked at him, her chest falling and rising in anger.

"Of course Albus, I'll let you deal with this."

Harry watched, a numb sort of look on his face, as Dumbledore moved towards the door and pushed it open. The headmaster pushed it open, light filtering in a very magical sort of way. In that moment, that one ray was more magical than anything he'd ever seen. Harry was sure once he had come to his senses that thought would leave. But still, he had a vague sense that he was learning some great truth about life.

It was odd.

Harry felt embarrassed when he realized Dumbledore was waiting for him to get up. All too glad to get out of the room, Harry leapt up with an energy he thought had depleted and darted into the hallway. It took a lot of control not to run down the narrow way, shouting from the joy of it all that was welling up inside of him. He did try to do a little hop, but the pain that shot through him quickly sobered any more feelings of exuberance.

"Professor, I--" Harry started, in a tone he realized later on that was too personal for the Dumbledore that was walking past him now. The long silver hair went by in a flash and Harry couldn't help but feel stung as the man who had once been his mentor turned to him, an unreadable expression on his face.

"Please follow me."

That was all he said. To Harry, that was the first real sign that something was wrong. Besides the obvious fact that he'd nearly been strangled and almost had veritaserum forced down his throat of course. Even now those events seemed to be fading away as Dumbledore led Harry through various hallways and up many elevators. Harry cleared his throat a few times, as if he was going to say something, but every time he tried nothing came out. Finally, just as he was about to ask what was going on, they appeared in a large lobby where a single door was waiting for them.

The meeting of his Headmaster hadn't been as joyous as Harry thought it would be. Rather, a familiar feeling of being ignored was welling up within him. Every time he'd throw Dumbledore a furtive glance, the man would simply keep his eyes focused on the door ahead of them.

A horrible little feeling was starting to gnaw at him. It was completely unlike the feeling he had when Dorian and the others had him pinned down to that chair. It was quiet and it made him feel, if possible, worse.

Harry wasn't really sure how he got into that chair across the desk from Dumbledore. The scene was out of place. For a moment his green eyes wandered around, looking for a slumbering portrait or a glimmer of a bright, red and gold tail.

But there was none. There was no comforting sign that made Harry feel like everything was going to be okay. And as childish as that made him, it was a feeling he was desperately longing for.

In fact, there was only a little gold nameplate that made him sick. Because as he slowly sank down into the chair, he realized why the name Millicent was so familiar. It was the last name that did it to him. Hermione's shrill voice when they were studying wasn't that hard to forget. It was odd the things people could remember.

Bagnold.

He had known it since he had met Leroy Potter. But it hadn't really clicked. He guessed at the time he was sure it all had to be a dream. But he knew now and Harry was trying to form some kind of plan.

A plan that would get him out of the year 1977.

He sat down and just let his mind deflate. What was he going to do? Dumbledore would never believe him. How was he going to explain any of it?

There was just silence after that, and Harry felt awkward each time he coughed. It felt like he was still getting used to the idea of breathing and every few seconds he'd have to shake his lungs. He was forced to look at everything but his Headmaster, as now those blue eyes were leering at him. Harry suddenly became preoccupied with a large potted plant in the corner. For a moment a snicker wanted to come to his lips as the conspiracy theory ran through his mind, but it didn't take long for that to be silenced. When he finally had the courage to look Dumbledore in the eye, the look exchanged between them sent shivers running up and down Harry's spine.

"I'm sorry about the way you've been treated," Dumbledore said, his fingers interlaced and resting on the desk.

Harry just pressed his lips together.

"It's fine," he said, lying through his teeth. Dumbledore obviously seemed to know this, but thankfully he didn't comment on it. There seemed to be a level between of formality between them that had never been their previously.

Harry had to shift in his seat.

"Even if this whole ordeal was far outside Ministry standards," Dumbledore continued, "The truth still needs to be revealed. I'd like to give you the opportunity to tell it."

With a little look on his face, Harry crossed his arms.

"Finally," he muttered under his breath. Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "Sorry," Harry said, looking down at his hands.

Dumbledore cleared his throat and seemed to be pondering something for a second.

"That last comment I think has established you're underage," he said, though there really was no malice in it. "I daresay you're sixteen?"

"At the end of July," Harry replied, grateful he was seeing some sort of personality out of his mentor.

"And what is your name?"

"Harry."

Harry rolled his eyes lightly and rubbed his face when Dumbledore just looked at him.

"It's—it's Harry—Harry P-Porter," Harry said stammered. Damn, what was a name like Porter? He was sure the answer wouldn't be enough, and that had to be a sad glimmer in Dumbledore's eyes. But nothing happened, nothing but a weary sigh.

"And why are you here in the Ministry of Magic?

The questions seemed all too familiar. Harry took in a deep breath.

"My friends and I were being attacked by Death Eaters. There was a crash and I felt like I was drowning in a sandbox and the next thing I know, I'm here."

It was the truth. It was the bloody truth and Harry gripped the edges of the desk so hard his knuckles turned white. Dumbledore looked at his hands for a moment and nodded his head. Score 1, Harry.

"What do you suppose I do? I think it's safe to say you can't stay here at the Ministry," he said after a long time.

Harry nodded vehemently.

"I was thinking I could come to Hogwarts," Harry said in an all too hopeful voice. The silence said it all. Dumbledore pressed his hands to his mouth for a moment.

"Do you have no family?" he said and Harry felt the blood rush to his face as he shook his head in a slow manner.

"I'm an orphan," he almost whispered, his fingernails scrapping against the wood.

"Mr. Porter, I'm afraid you can't come to Hogwarts," Dumbledore said, a horrible look of sympathy in his eyes. It made the hair on the back of Harry's neck curl. In an angry rush, he leapt to his feet and threw his arms around. It wasn't the smartest thing he could have done, but still.

"Where am I supposed to go then?" Harry growled, gripping his hair in frustration. "I swear, I'm telling you the truth. I'm not some psycho killer."

Once again there was that silence that killed him.

"Don't you trust me?" Harry said in a desperate tone. He stared right past those glasses.

_Read my mind! I'm Harry, I swear I'm Harry! You can read my mind like a book!_

"I think I may have a solution to this," Dumbledore said finally. Harry just sank down into the chair, his face in his hands. "I have an open position at the school I think you'll fill quite nicely."

"And what would that be?" Harry asked, not even bothering to look up.

"Assistant Librarian."

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**Author's Note: I'm officially not happy with the way this chapter turned out, and it was originally going to be much longer. But there was so much to fit in, so many feelings and all I just couldn't fit it in. What do you have to look forward to: Why does Dumbledorelet Harry come to Hogwarts? Does he trust him? And whatever happened to Leroy Potter? **

**If you want to know what happens next, I suggest you click that review button down there. Really. Do. **


	4. Chapter 3

**A Thing of the Past**

**Author's Note: Thank you so much for your reviews! It's really helped inspire me for all the upcoming chapters and I hope you enjoy them. I hope this chapter answers some questions you might have had. This was the hardest chapter I've ever written in my entire life, so that's why it took so long. **

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**Previous Chapter: **

"I think I may have a solution to this," Dumbledore said finally. Harry just sank down into the chair, his face in his hands. "I have an open position at the school I think you'll fill quite nicely."

"And what would that be?" Harry asked, not even bothering to look up.

"Assistant Librarian."

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**Chapter Three:**

"_You may be deceived if you trust too much, but you will live in torment if you do not trust enough."_

_--Frank Crane_

It was a painful scene to watch from behind his glasses.

If there had been one thing that had touched him, it was the look on the child's face, so tired and somnolent. So many shadows seemed to be plaguing the air and all he could do was fold his hands softly on the grainy table, studying the fine, wrinkled lines of his palms.

There was a deafening silence that came over the two, and Albus Dumbledore studied the boy with sympathy as the young man buried his face in his hands. It was the mannerism of those who had lived too much and Albus found himself partially endeared to the boy who claimed his name was Harry. It was a dangerous thing, but these were dangerous times. It was a hard thing to do to try and search inside his mind; the silence alone seemed too holy to desecrate with words. In a way he was almost glad those green eyes were no longer focused on him, emerald seething with betrayal.

It was a betrayal he couldn't quite place.

Harry shifted slightly in his seat, his fingers dragging over his face, the skin stretching in an almost comical manner. Albus pressed his folded fingers lightly on his lips, his elbows feeling heavy on the table. It was a mesmerizing moment, watching Harry's dark hair fall into his eyes as he slowly lifted his head up. He licked his cracked lips and frowned as his shaking fingers gingerly touched the large gash on his head.

There was a moment that passed between them that, later on, neither of them could describe. Albus was sure the boy was trying to say something, to communicate in some unspoken way. Harry just looked at him, his back rounded as if he was buckling under some large weight that had been placed heavily upon him.

A knock broke the silence. Albus didn't look to the door; rather, he focused on Harry, who had nearly fallen out of his seat at the sound, a dark look sweeping over his face. The boy's reactions were intriguing and deep inside the pit of his stomach there was a need, a hunger for the truth of this situation. Somehow, without even realizing, this young man was scaring him more than most things he had seen so far in his long life.

And there was no argument that Albus Dumbeldore had seen quite a bit.

Finally, he had to look away from Harry and saw Millicent standing in the doorway, her small shoulders still shaking slightly. Her lightly colored eyes, framed with little wrinkles around the corners, were darting back and forth between the two persons in her office. It seemed the realization of the situation was now sinking into her bones and Albus saw the confusion etched on her face.

Clearing his throat, Albus stood up and placed a hand on Millicent's shoulder, pressing with slight weight as if to turn her back out the door. He nodded his head, his silver hair bobbing, with an almost reassuring smile on his face that didn't quite reach those pale blue eyes. Millicent just backed away, her short neck craning to keep her gaze on Harry longer, who had slumped down far in his chair, arms crossed tightly over his chest.

"I'll be back shortly," Albus said quietly in Harry's direction. The boy didn't move, his green eyes staring straight ahead, seemingly fascinated with the bookcase on the opposite end of the room.

There was an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach as he clicked the large wooden door shut, Harry's form completely disappearing behind the slab of oak. Albus sighed as Millicent strode back and forth, her normally calm nature completely discarded. Her long fingers were twisted together, a palm pressing against her forehead every few steps. Finally, after she seemed to have pulled a few of her muddle thoughts together, Millicent stopped, though she swayed slightly as she did so.

"What is he doing here?" she asked in a worried voice, eyes focusing on the door as if she was trying to peer through the wood. The silence was thick for a moment before Albus spoke, as if he was choosing the words to say.

"He says he and his friends have been attacked by Death Eaters," Albus said slowly. Millicent just shook her head.

"Dorian and the others didn't see anyone," she said in a disbelieving voice. Albus looked back towards the wooden door, then at Millicent again, for once not knowing quite what to say. A calm look was on his face, his thoughts more important than speech. A plan had to be formulated, each step carefully executed to ensure the safety of his school. This, however, didn't seem to bode well with Millicent.

"What are we going to do?" she said in a calm, but shaking voice.

"His name's Harry," Albus said, thinking somehow he needed to make that point known before anything else. "With your permission, I'd like to take him to Hogwarts," he continued mildly.

Millicent's eyes widened slightly, her teeth exposed as her jaw dropped.

"You trust him?" she said in a shocked voice, a little wisp of graying hair falling wildly into her face.

Albus stood still for a moment, saddened somewhere in his old bones as he shook his head.

"No," he said, envisioning the young man just feet away. "There's too much Harry isn't telling us. But I don't believe he's as dangerous as Dorian would have liked us to believe."

It struck him somewhere deep in his soul, where the mind was constantly waging a war against the heart. It was that place where reason conquered intuition and where memories you don't remember at all seem to come from. It had hurt Albus immensely to shake his head, and that thought disturbed him more than the fact that a strange boy, who had an all too familiar face, appeared in one of the most secluded and private rooms in the Ministry of Magic.

The pacing was back now, Millicent tugging gently at the ends of her hair every few seconds. Albus had rarely seen her in such a distressed shape, though he could hardly blame her. The times they were living in were worn clearly in each line of her face, with each hardened step that she took. She didn't say anything, but seemed to have retreated back into her own harried thoughts.

"I'll be able to watch him at Hogwarts," Albus said gently, placing a hand on her shoulder once again before the woman was walked a hole in the carpet.

It took a moment for Millicent to react properly, but she finally exhaled a large breath, while nodding her head in a weary manner.

"Of course, you're right," she said, gaining some of her composure. "You'll need to keep me updated on anything you learn," Millicent said, starting to count off measures that would have to be taken. A sudden spark came to her eye, a flash of terror crossing her face.

"Oh Albus!" she practically cried. "We can't let the media find out about this, not after the fiasco in Knockturn Alley last week. I can see the headlines now, 'Dangerous stranger admitted to Hogwarts'!"

Albus just shook his head, trying to will some air into her lungs.

"I'll take him right now. I'm giving him a small position at the school that will let me keep an eye on him," he said softly, turning his blue eyes back to the door.

"Right now," Millicent said vigorously, nodding her head. Albus nodded his head in reply, robes swishing on the floor as he turned back to the door, his gnarled fingers gripping the knob tightly, the wood door swinging open loudly on the hinges.

"Harry, please come with me," Albus said softly as the boy turned his head up towards him, a sad look plastered on his face.

The figure before him stayed motionless. Neither of the two breathed the air somehow too stifling and uncomfortable to breathe in. Harry's whole body seemed stiff, and with very painful movements, he finally pushed himself out of the rickety chair. The distance between the two figures could have been no more than a mere foot or two, but they might as well have been on opposite ends of the earth. Finally, with a mere flicker of his eyelashes, Harry walked out the open door; gaze intently focused on the carpet. Unfortunately, his view obstructed as it was, he had no time to stop the strong pair of arms that gripped his shoulders.

To most normal human beings, after being harassed and threatened, most sudden movements are not appreciated and often received with violence. And Harry was no exception. The moment that the strong hands grabbed him, he twisted his body, pushing hard against a slightly damp sweater and stumbling backwards. Instinctively, Harry's hands groped at his pockets for his wand, which, to his dismay, was gone.

Bewildered, and feeling ready to tackle the next person to touch him, Harry looked up. His forehead furrowed as he realized that Leroy Potter was clutching his blood stained wand in his hand, which was now hanging limply at his side.

"Sorry," the man muttered, taking in a few calming breaths. His arm shook mildly as he held out the wand. Harry, not exactly sure how to react, took a step forward and took it, placing it safely in his back pocket.

"Are you okay?" his grandfather asked, fingers twisting together in a knot of skin and bone.

Harry nodded his head, scraping his fingernails on his palms, itchy from the blood and sweat. He finally felt safe enough to lift his hands once again to his head, wincing as he dabbed at the cut, which had finally stopped oozing blood. He felt his grandfather's eyes traveling with his hand, and something in Harry stirred at the worried look in the man's eyes.

Leroy Potter looked suddenly over Harry's shoulder, as his aged friend stepped forward.

"He needs to go to St. Mungo's," Leroy said calmly, thinking it was best not to act like a lunatic when it came to discussing the boy he didn't even know.

"Poppy will fix Harry up nicely," Dumbledore said with his mild affirmation, in that voice that Harry once would cling to, for it meant everything was taken care of and under control.

As if a guiding way, he motioned towards the door. Dumbledore moved slowly, motioning for Harry and Leroy to follow. Leroy seemed to have an insatiable look of fear on his face as Harry shook slightly as he walked down the first few step. But as the minutes passed, the look faded and Harry felt for the first time as if this man was a stranger.

The two continued on talking, and Harry could care less whether they were discussing him or not. He was used to people talking about him as if he wasn't in the room. Besides, words were melting together at that point. The deepest reaches of his mind were trying to force him to think, to realize his friends were probably dead. After all, admitting they were gone was the first step.

What was that damn itching? His hand felt like it was on fire.

Was this grief? Was it acceptance? Harry didn't know. Suddenly, the lessons learned from the graveyard a year ago disappeared. This loss, this ringing in his soul, was somehow different from Cedric's death. It was close, it was personal. And it burned. It burned his insides till Harry wanted nothing more than to drown in hopes of quenching the flames.

The itch was crawling up his arm. Harry frowned and scratched harder, a blank expression on his face. He had to hop to the side to miss an open doorway.

He wondered if they hated him. They had to. He let them die after all. He failed them. It was the cruelest of things that he had survived. That thought, more than any other, dug into his brain and gave him a familiar little phrase. It was a phrase so dark, and so disastrous to young souls that most don't survive it. Harry had known the phrase since he had been a child, yet he had finally started to forget them. Now that they were back, it was enough to knock him off his feet.

He rubbed his neck, nails grating against the skin. Harry's mouth was parted, as if the air had to push itself into his lungs. He couldn't put a finger on the voice which was repeating the phrase, but Harry knew it. He hated that he knew it. Why was he the one to know the phrase better than anyone else?

_I'm alone. _

Harry's hands wrapped around cheek, fingertips pushing hard onto his temples.

_I'm alone. _

They were looking at him now. The two older men, for some bizarre reason, were glancing over. Harry figured he should be used to it, but the fact that they couldn't just look at the potted plants made him angry.

_I'm alone. _

He almost looked up wildly, hearing his name being called. It was in a far away voice that haunted him, but Harry somehow yearned for it. Maybe he could hear one of his friends one last time. He was struggling even now to cling to their memories. Now that they were gone, all their voice and scents and actions were fleeing him.

"_Harry?"_ the voice said. Harry guessed this was the time when he should suddenly be rushing into a tunnel of light or mist where their figures would be standing. He shut his eyes for a moment, trying to concentrate when a strong grip pulled his hand away from his head.

"Harry!"

The harsh light seemed even brighter when Harry took in a sharp breath, glancing over to his grandfather, who was holding his hand tightly.

"You're going to bore a hole in your head," the man muttered, patting Harry's hand and letting it drop back down. "That cut's already done enough damage."

Harry blinked, and looked as Leroy Potter stopped as they entered the large entrance to the Ministry of Magic. Harry suddenly felt lost as he listened to the conversation.

"One thing eludes me Albus," Leory said, a questioning look on his face. Harry's neck nearly cricked as he looked back and forth between the two of them. "How did you know to come?"

A twinkle seemed to return to Headmaster's eye.

"I was informed by a very old friend of mine that some serious trouble was brewing here and I needed to get the Minister as I could. I believed you talk to him."

Both Leroy's and Harry's faces were showing marks of confusion, till Leroy suddenly let out a chuckle and ran his face over his hands.

"The portrait?" he asked.

Harry, who felt as if he couldn't bear to stand a moment longer, looked to Dumbledore, who simply nodded.

"The portrait."

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**Hoped you liked it! If you don't understand the portrait referance, just read the chapter and it'll all become clear. For all those who was thinking Dumbly's decision was rushed, it wasn't. He had to move quickly and more of his plan will be revealed in later chapters. Review so I can write more!**


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